By Kanani Fong
Each November they come, marching on streets from Fullerton to New York City. Some are grizzled and grey, their rows not as straight, and many march arm in arm. To see a veterans day parade is to bear witness to a time line of war and peace: Iraq, Afghanistan, Vietnam, Korea, The Pacific, and Europe. And if you were to imagine, preceding them would be soldiers from Belleau Wood, San Juan Hill, Antietam, Gettysburg, and Valley Forge. If we look around us, we might even imagine all the loved ones they left behind, standing alongside watching the procession go by.
Her Marine nephew is coming home this weekend.
The passing years are gently worn by some of the WWII vets. While there are those still able to make the march, others sit at the staging area. They wear caps emblazoned where and with whom they served. Many have medals pinned to their jackets. Their vision is not as keen, sharp sounds are softer now. Yet, here they are, craning their necks, listening for the familiar sound of boots on the ground. They are waiting for their brothers who are marching for them.
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